Flotsam and Jetsam

Pictures from the fall

Hi friends~

I’ve just returned from the Philippines and Japan. More on that in a newsletter soon! Like you, I’m scared shitless about the future and heartbroken about the present.

Last week, I was making miso with friends in Japan and when we sealed the crocks—this time they were large crimson plastic buckets—we made a wish for the future, which we’ll return to when we open the miso again in a year. I was feeling very stricken that morning in the wake of Renée Good’s murder (Alex Pretti was still alive then), the ongoing ideological assault on the Somali community (for running daycares! good grief!), and ICE’s target on all immigrants. I clumsily wrote on scotch tape my wish for an end of US hegemony with the least amount of suffering possible. With or without Trump and his pride of monsters at the helm, US power at its baldest reveals how corrupt our foundations have always been.

When I wrote this, I knew it was miserably incomplete. Still, I believe in the importance of making wishes and imagining a different, softer, lighter, more loving future.

This Friday, January 30, Minnesotans have called for a nation-wide general strike to vocalize our collective rejection of ICE in our communities. Please join!

Back home, I’m sifting through a cache of film photos I took in the fall that feel like they come from another person’s life. How’s that for a segue to some mundane pictures?

Around Halloween, I finally made it to a spit of sand called Bayocean (I was pronouncing it like a Tagalog word, but it’s actually “bay-ocean”) due west of Tillamook. At its peak in 1914, Bayocean had a population of 2,000 and a 1,000-seat movie theatre—you know, for when half the town wanted to go see Gertie the Dinosaur at the same time.

When residents compelled the Army Corps of Engineers to build a jetty (of two they coveted to make their boat ride smoother), they created an engineering feature destined to bury them in sand. Scholars also argue that if they’d asked any indigenous people of the area, they’d have learned that this spit frequently washes away. From this wonderful extensive history of Bayocean: “Their oral traditions tell of a god-like character, South Wind, whose phallus is the sand spit.” From time to time, as punishment for bad deeds, his phallus is severed. To that I say, generally: yes, thank you! Sever it!

And wash away it did. Today, there’s nothing much to see at Bayocean—no 1,000-seat theatre, no visible remains, only the Pacific Ocean and the plants and animals of the beach.

We hiked along the beach and through the pine forest anyway. Our friend Lauren brought us snacks, including unshelled peanuts in a salvaged Biohazard bag, and our friend Peter defined flotsam and jetsam, something I didn’t even realize I’d been curious about.

Flotsam: floating debris

Jetsam: jettisoned debris, whether floating or not

Back in Portland, I loaned my camera for an afternoon to my friend Yuri’s daughter, Keena, a 6th grader, and she took these soothing photos of fall foliage at the Japanese Garden.

I do a fair deal of travelling, sometimes for work, and in mid November I went to La Grande to write about a group of outdoor educators. I continue to be profoundly inspired by the work of various nonprofits around Oregon who focus on kids connection to natural spaces, especially kids with the least access.

In La Grande, I stayed at Hot Lake, a hot springs lodge originally built in 1864 as a sanitarium. (I guess this is a newsletter about Oregon historic destinations.) Today, it holds two countervailing energies: Wes Anderson hyper-charm and haunted decrepitude.

While there, I finally watched the Wim Wender’s film Lightning Over Water. Have you seen it? It’s a collaborative film, initially intended to infuse purpose into the director Nicholas Ray’s last moments of life. Instead, it transforms into a very intimate, even intrusive portrait of his death. For so many reasons, this hit for me. What did you think of it?

Behind Hot Lake is this caved-in building. This also hits.

As I drove home from La Grande, the sky began rollerskating towards me.

And then I was home and back to my routine.

My mom visits frequently, which is such a treat for us. She never misses a Blazers game if she can help it.

I’m watching so many of my close friends have little babies. It’s gorgeous.

Baby Francis knew what was his.

And now dear Nancy has little baby June! Although not in this photo, which lives in the past.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for your love and care in the world.

My love to you,
Lola